


Definitely not Poison

by Bsmadi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, I love creamed spinach 'nuff said.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:19:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bsmadi/pseuds/Bsmadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just one quiet meal at home.  Really, is that too much to ask?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Definitely not Poison

“There you go, Sherlock. Bon appetit.” Doctor John H. Watson, or as he was calling himself in his mind tonight, Chef John, set the plate on the desk before his flat mate with a flourish that would have made even the great Angelo proud. 

He went back to the kitchen, returning with a plate for himself, to find the dark-haired genius shifting through his food as if he suspected a bomb might be hiding under the meat. “What is this?” he asked.

John set his plate on the table next to his chair and opened his mouth to say something sarcastic before deciding that he wasn’t going to let Sherlock’s lack of social graces ruin his good mood. “It’s pork roast, garlic mashed potatoes and…”

“This, John.” Sherlock pointed with his fork. “What is this?”

John made a show of stretching his neck to get a better look. “Oh, that? That’s creamed spinach.”

“Spinach?” Somehow that word was less a question than an accusation.

“Creamed. Yes.”

“How exactly does one cream spinach?”

“Well, you chop the spinach and then sautee it in a sauce of…” A roll of blue eyes stopped the description. “Just eat it, Sherlock. It’s good, I promise you.”

Sherlock huffed in reply and pushed food around his plate with just the tips of his fork. “If this is about the electric eels in the bathtub, I did apologize for that.”

“No it’s not, and no you didn’t.” 

“Well, I meant to.” 

Silence fell between the two men. John picked up his own plate and forked up some potatoes. They had almost reached his mouth when Sherlock suddenly continued the conversation. “You know, if you meant to poison me, I’m sure even you could have found a less obvious method.”

“Sherlock, believe me when I tell you I have thought of many more imaginative ways to do you in than poisoning your dinner, which, I might add, I am trying to enjoy myself.” The increasingly annoyed man stood up. “You know what? Eat your dinner or don’t. It’s entirely up to you.” Carrying his plate into the kitchen, he pulled a chair out from under the table, dumping a large pile of papers on to the floor in the process.

Sherlock looked up with a scowl. “Really, John, there’s no reason to waste an entire day’s research just because you can’t properly cook some exotic vegetable.”

“Exotic? Seriously, Sherlock?” John stood so abruptly that he caused the table to tilt spilling his own dinner on the wasted day’s research. “It’s spinach, for God’s sake. Spinach.”

“But it’s creamed spinach, John.” Sherlock used the voice he saved for explaining deductions to ordinary people who were not John. “Creamed. Spinach.”

John looked down at what would have been his supper and then up at Sherlock, who was looking back, with his face wearing the victory of an argument well won. “Right. Fine. Yes. I’m going out.” He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, already wondering if the Chinese down the street was still open. He was down the stairs and almost out the door when he heard Sherlock call after.

“John, what is this smell in the mashed potatoes?”


End file.
